A Loss for Words
by Theresa Dunnict
Summary: A clever criminal is leaving clues for the CSI team, and the danger may be closer than they think! GS - Completed
1. Part One

Fandom: CSI

Pairing: I'm a G/S nut, what can I say?

Spoilers: General fifth season timeline. References to Strip Strangler.

Rating: PG-13 for content

Disclaimer: If they were mine, there would have been a musical episode by now. So, clearly, they're not.

Summary: A clever rapist is leaving clues for the CSI team, and the danger may be closer than they think.

A/N: I would like to extend my apologies to the moderators, and to all of those who read two chapters of this fic and were left hanging for a week. I accidentally rated the story "G" when I posted it last week, and I used the word "rapist" in the summary. These were both accidental, but I was banned for a week before I could correct them.

So, my apologies, and a huge "thank you" to everyone who read and reviewed my fic the first time around. I'll be more careful this time, and I'm grateful for the second chance. And thanks to addicted2CSI for your observation; I acknowledged the Strip Strangler similarities in this draft. I actually started writing this before I saw SS, and most of the similarities are just in the first chapter.

Like I said, it's my first fic, so feel free to correct any OOC dialogue, continuity problems, what have you. I wanted to write it as an omniscient narrator, but I just stuck with straight narration to make it feel more like an episode. Future fics will probably get into the characters' heads a bit more. I'll let you read it now, before the author's notes exceed the length of the chapter.

**OOO**

**Part One**

Gil Grissom sighed and looked over at Greg, who was circling the woman's bedroom like a lost puppy.

"Greg," he said with a combination of frustration and curiosity. "What are you looking for?"

Greg looked around the room despondently, his eyes finally resting on the dead woman. Her wrists were each cuffed to opposite bedposts, and her naked body seemed normal, apart from the red marks on her neck.

"I don't know," he finally replied. "Anything?"

Grissom slumped his shoulders slightly. "I know you're new at sexual abuse cases, Greg, and I have to tell you, this is one of the more difficult ones I've seen. We don't have much evidence, and the few clues we do have seem contradictory."

Greg tape-lifted hairs or fibers from the victim's body. "This is pointless. I've tried tape-lifting twice already. There's nothing here. Where's Sara?"

"She took the blanket back to do a full analysis. Murder weapons that big are hard to process on site."

"What did you mean by contradictory?"

Grissom walked over to the window and tried to push it upwards. It didn't budge. He turned to look at Greg. "You tell me. What do you see?"

Standing up straight and surveying the scene once more, Greg stepped back and began to think out loud. "Marilyn Keller. Single woman, apartment, reasonably late at night. No forced entry or sign of struggle, which probably means the assailant was someone she knew and trusted. Handcuffs were put on before the attack to prevent the victim from fighting back, and then left at the scene. No blood, no hairs, no fibers, no prints. You said this was contradictory?"

Grissom nodded. "Think about it, Greg. A woman just lets someone into her house late at night, and given the lack of defensive wounds, may have been cuffed to the bed without protest, and then strangled with a blanket. Like you said, this was someone she trusted, but this doesn't seem like a crime of passion. This was methodical. Planned. Crimes of passion are not this neat." He paused to pull out his phone as he felt it vibrate against his chest. "Grissom."

"Hey," came Sara's voice on the other end. "Rape kit came up positive for assault, but negative for semen. He probably used a condom and took it with him when he was done. Grissom, we may have another Strip Strangler on our hands."

"I hope not, Sara. Prints?"

Sara sighed. "Nothing. No prints on the blanket, and the prints on the handcuffs match the vic's. It looks like she put them on herself, and those were the only prints. This guy had latex in more places than one."

"All right. Thanks, Sara." Grissom hung up and turned to Greg. "No DNA and no prints, positive for rape, and she put the cuffs on herself."

"So…she let him in the house, cuffed herself to the bed, and was raped and murdered by a complete stranger?"

"Well, let's not assume anything yet. There's not much else we can do here. Once they move the body out, I need you to bag that sheet and bring it in for handwriting analysis."

Greg tilted his head downward to once again examine the words written on the light blue fitted sheet in black permanent market.

_DNA is arsenal_.

"What's the definition of irony, Greg?"

Greg crossed to the other side of the room as the paramedics wheeled in the gurney. "Leaving the words 'DNA is arsenal' at a crime scene where there's no DNA?"

Grissom nodded. "Exactly."

**OOO**

Sara, Grissom, and Greg stood around the blanket, which was hanging up in the DNA lab.

Sara sighed. "I've used every chemical there is. All we have is a bit of Marilyn's saliva."

"Maybe this wasn't the blanket she was strangled with," Greg offered. "Maybe the killer took that blanket with him and left this one to trick us."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Good thinking. But for the time being, this is all we have. What did the tox screen say?"

"Nothing," Sara answered. "Not even cold medicine."

"Phone records?"

"Only call all night was outgoing, to her mother in Reno at 10:00. They talked for about ten minutes. What was the time of death?"

Grissom set his jaw and looked back up at the sheet. "Around midnight."

Sara looked down at the police statements. "Brass talked to Marilyn's neighbors, and nobody saw or heard anything. The building doesn't have a doorman, so I don't see how anyone could have gotten in. I'm thinking the killer might live in the building. Do you think we can get a warrant for an entire apartment complex?"

Grissom nodded. "We at least need to go back and talk to everyone."

Greg's eyes lit up for a moment. "Oh! Ronnie analyzed that message written on the sheet." He presented the photo of the cryptic message with a flourish.

"And?"

"Well, it didn't take very long. The message was written by a left-handed person, and the writing itself is quite feminine. We found Marilyn's datebook in her apartment, and it's a match. She wrote it, but this is much more shaky and abrupt than her usual handwriting."

Grissom took the picture from Greg's hands and looked it over closely. "You'd be shaky too, Greg, if you were writing your last words on your deathbed."

**OOO**

Grissom and Sara stood in front of the apartment entrance; Grissom investigating the lock on the front door, and Sara dusting the intercom call button.

"I got nothing," said Brass despondently. "'Shady Haven' seems to cater to female residents. Out of the 20 apartments in this building, 17 are inhabited by single women."

"Sixteen," Sara corrected. Grissom shot her a knowing glance. He then swung the door further open, allowing Brass to walk out onto the steps. "What about the other three?"

Brass looked down at his statements. "Mr. Frank Watson lives on the second floor, and I sincerely doubt he was capable of sexually assaulting our vic."

Grissom stood up straight and removed his glasses. "Why do you say that?"

"He's 74 years old." Grissom nodded his agreement as Brass continued. "David Herkner lives on the third floor, and I know I'm not a scientist, but the guy's a drunk and his apartment looks like the aftermath of a hurricane. If he had been in Marilyn's place, you probably would have noticed the odor when you went in. Our perp has at least some knowledge of forensics. This guy couldn't string a coherent sentence together."

"We shouldn't rule anyone out," Sara interjected.

"Well, if that's the case, should we bring the third guy down to the station? Because when I went to talk to him, he was having dinner with his boyfriend."

"Appearances can be deceiving, Jim," Grissom responded. Did anyone see people entering or leaving the building last night?"

Brass shook his head. "These people all claimed to have been in bed last night; most of them work first shift. The security camera was unplugged from behind around 11:30 pm, and was never plugged back in."

Grissom pointed at the lock. "This lock hasn't been tampered with, and Marilyn's windows are old and wedged into the windowsills. Whoever entered her apartment was buzzed in."

"But not necessarily by Marilyn," Sara suggested. "We contacted her mother, and she said Marilyn called her every week. They talked about everything, and she never mentioned a boyfriend." She sighed and turned back toward the intercom panel. "There have got to be a hundred different prints on this thing."

"What did Marilyn do for a living?" Grissom asked.

"She co-managed a restaurant on the strip with her sister."

"We talked to her," Brass continued. "She said that Marilyn was definitely single, and if she had any men in her life, she didn't tell anyone. No workplace romance or amorous customers as far as the sister could tell, and it seems that all Marilyn did was work."

Sara raised an eyebrow and turned back to the door panel silently.

Grissom removed his glasses. "So the only thing we know so far is that at least one person in this case has a secret."

"Fantastic," Brass muttered as he walked back up the steps into the building.

**OOO**

Every time you review a fic, an angel gets his wings. :o)


	2. Part Two

A/N: Hope you're enjoying it so far. This chapter is a bit more fun. Oh, in case you're wondering, the entire thing is written, so there won't be a huge wait in between chapters, and there are seven chapters. Just in case you were in suspense. :)

**Part Two**

Catherine stepped inside Grissom's office. "You look tired."

"Thanks," he responded listlessly.

"Grissom, it's been a week. Cases are piling up."

"Mm." He held up a crime scene photo of a bedside table to the light. "Don't most people have a phone on their nightstands?"

"If they're workaholics. Why? Did you find a phone?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "No."

"Grissom-"

"I know, I know. The sheriff is telling me to write it off as a domestic abuse case and move on to something else, but…"

"The writing?"

Grissom nodded. "This isn't just about passion. There's something…taunting. I don't know. It's too staged."

Before Catherine could respond, Brass poked his head in the door. "Gil. There's a 419 in the same neighborhood. I think it's our guy. Same M.O., similar vics, and there's more cryptic writing on the bedsheets."

"Get Sara and Greg," Grissom said, grabbing his kit. "Our domestic abuse case just turned into a serial."

**OOO**

Grissom pursed his lips slightly as he leaned over to read the writing on the sheet. "Diana S. Larsen."

Greg lifted his head up from dusting the end table. "This woman's name is Juliet Markus." He paused. "Maybe Diana S. Larsen is his next victim."

Sara entered the room. "Brass ran the name, and there are two Diana Larsens in Nevada. One is a 60-year-old retired math teacher from Reno, and the other is a seven-year-old girl from Spring Creek. And neither of them has the middle initial 'S.'"

"What about California? Arizona? Utah?"

"We checked 100 miles in every direction. There is no Diana S. Larsen."

Greg stood up to let David take a liver temperature. "Maybe it's her maiden name. That could be why our guy is so pissed. He wanted to be the one to marry her."

"It's a good theory, Greg, but keep dusting."

Sara bent over to get her supplies. "Do you want me to do a rape kit?"

Grissom snapped off his gloves in frustration. "Sure. Let's keep poking at the lack of evidence."

"You're the one that says there's always a clue," Sara retorted.

"Well, it's been a week, and I haven't found it. And this guy is going to kill again."

**OOO**

"You look rested," Sara commented with a hint of cheer.

Grissom managed a weak smile and sat down in his chair. "I suppose. It seems that two days without sleep is bad for business. Did I miss anything?"

Catherine entered his office, brandishing a file folder. "Yup. Nick and Warrick solved another murder, and I am heading home."

"The high school teacher?" Sara interjected. "Who did it?"

"Angry parent," she replied. "Didn't want her son's chemistry grade to ruin his chances of getting into college."

Sara let out a low whistle.

Nick poked his head in. "Evening, Griss. Find your lunatic yet?"

Grissom sighed. "No, Ecklie has the day off."

Sara grinned. "You guys want to help us talk this case out?"

"I don't know," Nick responded warily. "If Grissom hasn't figured it out yet…"

Grissom shot him a dangerous look. "Don't assume anything, Nicky. I have theories. I just need something to connect them."

Catherine leaned against Grissom's shelves and sighed. "But what do you have? Two cryptic and unrelated messages etched on a mattress?"

Sara slumped her shoulders. "More or less. We have rape with no DNA, strangulation with no prints, and no apparent entry or exit of the assailant. And as for these messages-"

"Of course!"

Everyone froze as Grissom stood up out of his chair. "They're anagrams! 'Diana S. Larsen!' You rearrange the letters, it spells 'DNA is Arsenal.' I can't believe I missed that."

Raising an eyebrow, Catherine looked over at Grissom. "You can just do anagrams in your head?"

"Well, those two aren't really elaborate. Most of the letters are in the same order, but, yeah. I can generally do anagrams in my head. The question is-"

"Do my name."

"Catherine-"

"Yeah!" said Nick excitedly. "Do all of our names. Come on, your shift hasn't even officially started yet."

Grissom rolled his eyes and sat back down. "All right, all right. Let's see…Catherine Willows..."

Warrick walked into the office, his arms folded. "What's going on?"

"Shh, Warrick," Nick cautioned. "Grissom can do anagrams in his head. He's thinking."

"Orwellian Witches."

Catherine's eyes widened. "You're joking."

Grissom turned to Nick. "Do you mind if I use 'Nicholas?'"

"Knock yourself out, Griss."

He put a finger over his lips pensively. "So Into Shackles."

Warrick smirked and nodded his approval. "Nice. Very nice. What about me?"

"See, the thing is, Warrick, your name has a lot of consonants and only three vowels. I may have to get back to you on that." He paused. "You can make the word 'rainbow,' though."

"Splendid," Warrick sighed. "I'm going to go find Greg-"

"Renders Gags," Grissom interrupted.

"Right. Him. I'll catch you guys later"

As Warrick left the office, Grissom turned to Sara. "Now, yours has enough vowels, but it's just…short. What's your middle name?"

Sara paused a moment in deliberation. Finally, she spoke. "Ann."

Grissom leaned back in his chair to think. "Sara Ann Sidle. Hmmmm."

After a few moments of silence, Grissom's eyes grew wide. He leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk. Sara's eyes met his, and the mood of the room was quickly changed.

"DNA is arsenal."

**OOO**


	3. Part Three

A/N: Starting now, future chapters are going to be a bit cliché-ridden. I'll try to work on that with future fics, but really, the clichés, they own me. Thanks for reading!

PS: I also wrote this before seeing Bad Words, and learning that Grissom can't actually do anagrams in his head. But, for the purpose of my story, he can….because he's Grissom.

**Part Three**

No one said anything for a few moments. Finally, Nick spoke up.

"Maybe it's just a coincidence."

"Do you know what the odds of that are?" Grissom asked, his eyes never leaving Sara.

"I…I…" Sara stammered. "Who would…"

Catherine stood up and picked up the crime scene photos. "Does this mean that Sara's the actual target?"

Sara's eyes widened. "I don't know those women! Why would he kill two complete strangers to get to me?"

Grissom shrugged. "Mind games, maybe. Thrill. Flaunting. That's not important right now. This guy knows your middle name, which has to narrow the field quite a bit. I mean, I didn't even know it."

"And he might have known the other two women as acquaintances," Catherine added. "Sara, we need to start cross-referencing your social circles with these women to see if there are any commonalities."

"I don't have any social circles!" Sara exclaimed. "Everyone just hold on a minute. If someone wanted to attack me, why this elaborate setup? Why risk getting caught for two other murders?"

"Ignore the 'why' for now, Sara," said Grissom, taking the crime scene photos back from Catherine. "You can even ignore the 'how.' We need to figure out who."

**OOO**

"Grissom, can we please stop dissecting my life?" Sara gave an exasperated sigh and tossed her notebook on the meeting table. "The only places I go outside of work are the grocery store and the gym, and nobody at either place would know my middle name. Trust me, I'm not leading a double life here. I'm barely leading a single life."

Grissom sighed in response and leaned forward in his chair, facing Sara. "Anyone from your childhood? From college, maybe?"

"Yeah. I dumped a guy sophomore year, and now he's come to Vegas to murder women for the sole purpose of freaking me out."

"Don't be flippant, Sara. We've seen weirder. You're published; people can find out you're a CSI just by looking on the internet. Anyone who ever held a grudge against you could do this."

Just then, Greg burst into the room, waving a piece of paper. "Ronnie did the handwriting analysis on the bed sheet. Different handwriting this time. He made her write it again."

"I talked to Brass," Sara said, rubbing her eyes. "This building was exactly the opposite of the first; there was a raging party going on two floors above the vic's apartment. People were coming and going all night."

"Did she go to the party?"

Sara shook her head. "The hostess said she was invited, but never showed. David placed time of death around 8:00 pm."

Greg moved closer to the table. "What was the cause of death?"

Grissom looked up at Greg. "Asphyxiation. No surprise there. Greg, could you go see if the sexual assault kit has been processed?"

As Greg walked out the door, Grissom turned back to Sara. "Shift's almost over. You should probably get some sleep."

Sara opened her mouth to protest, but finally exhaled in defeat. "I probably shouldn't go home, though, given the circumstances."

"Mm. I already talked to Brass. They're going to have an officer take you back to your place to get your things, and then take you to a safe location."

Sara gathered together all of her papers and headed for the door. "You know as well as I do, Grissom, that there is no safe place in Vegas."

**OOO**

Sara stole a glance at her closet, and then looked back down at the suitcase on her bed. She took a long sip of tea, tipped up the cup to finish it, and set the empty cup down on her nightstand.

"I think I'm going to hop in the shower before we leave," she called into the living room. "Is that okay?"

Officer Fromansky lifted his head from admiring Sara's photos. "That's fine. Take your time."

"Make yourself at home!" she called back, the water from the sink running in the background. "And thanks for the tea!"

Fromansky grinned and locked the front door behind him. "You're welcome."

**OOO**


	4. Part Four

A/N: Well, putting this story back up has put me in a good mood! So have your reviews, the lack of Sophia in this week's episode, and the news about Quentin Tarantino directing the season finale. Maybe Grissom will have to stab Sara in the heart with an Epi-Pen. We'll just have to wait and see.

**Part Four**

Catherine sighed and folder her arms. "What are you still doing here?"

Grissom looked up from his desk, bleary-eyed. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Ecklie needs me to testify in court in an hour. Did Sara go home?"

Grissom nodded. "A little while ago. Brass sent an officer with her; they're going to a secure hotel, or motel…." He waved his hands limply. "Somewhere."

"You don't seem satisfied."

"Not really." He took off his glasses and leaned his head on his right hand. "Can you talk something out with me for a bit?"

Catherine smiled and sat down. "Of course. Something not feel right? I mean, other than the fact that we don't know who this guy is yet?"

"Exactly." Grissom sifted through the photos of the bed sheet messages. "I don't get it. If this guy's target is Sara, why do this? If he wanted to attack Sara, why broadcast that he's going to?"

"Psychological games?" Catherine offered. "Fear is a big turn-on for some people."

"But why the big show? Why advertise his intent in front of the entire crime lab? He'd have to know that eventually we'd figure out what they meant, and put up barriers to keep her safe."

She paused, her eyes growing more intense. "What if he was counting on it?"

Grissom put down the photos and leaned back. "Who would want to have his target guarded by an armed police officer?"

The moment the question escaped his mouth, Grissom and Catherine stared at each other without blinking. Frantically pulling his cell phone out, Grissom looked around his desks for the police reports as he pressed speed-dial with his thumb.

"Captain Jim Brass," came the voice on the other line.

"Brass. Which uniform did you send home with Sara?"

"Fromansky. Why?"

Grissom stood straight up, startling Catherine. "Fromansky? Are you kidding?"

"Look, Gil, I know you two aren't the best of friends, but I'm really short-staffed this weekend, and he volunteered."

"He volunteered?" Grissom repeated, heading toward the door, his voice quickening a bit. "I need you to tell me where he took her."

"Sure," Brass' voice responded calmly, as papers rustled in the background. "Sphere, room 302. Gil, what's going on?"

Grissom motioned for Catherine to follow him as he headed down the hall. "I need a welfare check on that location, and officers sent to her place as well, right now. I'll explain later." He covered the mouthpiece with his hand, and turned to Catherine. "Sphere, room 302. I'm going to her apartment."

Catherine nodded. "I'm on it. Let's hope we're wrong, Gil."

Grissom's pace quickened as they headed to the stairwell. "I've never wanted to be wrong more in my life."

**OOO**

In the shower, Sara was becoming unsteady. She grabbed the shower bar for support, but continued to waver. As she put her back to the tile wall and began to sink down, the bathroom door squeaked open. Fromansky popped his head in, drew back the shower curtain, and turned off the water, revealing Sara. She was in a slumped sitting position, her eyes half-open, breathing laboriously and trying to move her arms.

Fromansky slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and turned off the water.

"Enjoy the tea?"

**OOO**

Grissom gripped the wheel of his Tahoe as he accelerated out of a right turn. He turned back and saw two units heading toward him, their sirens blaring. Grissom waited until they had passed, and merged in behind them, matching their speed.

He pulled out his cell phone and pressed the Send button, dialing the last number he had dialed.

"Come on, Sara. Pick up."

After four rings, her voice came on the line.

"You've reached Sara Sidle. I'm sorry I can't take-"

Grissom flipped the phone shut and tossed it on the passenger seat, exhaling nervously.

**OOO**

Fromansky laid Sara out on the bed, smoothing her hair away from her face. He reached for his handcuffs and then paused to think for a moment before returning them to his belt.

"You're not going to fight me, are you?"

Sara responded with silence and drooping eyelids.

"Good."

**OOO**


	5. Part Five

A/N: Thanks so much Lin, Rebel, PupuleGirl, and jbr. You guys made my day! Here's another chapter! I'm glad that I'm keeping you in suspense. :)

**Part Five**

Grissom panted slightly as he ran up the stairwell, followed closely by two officers.

"Mr. Grissom, I thought this was just a welfare check. Why are we running?" said one.

Grissom stopped for a split second to catch his breath as he reached the second floor door. "It's an important welfare check."

"You know you're not supposed to enter a scene until we clear it?"

All three reached Sara's door, finding it locked.

"Pick this lock. Now," Grissom demanded. "She's a CSI. She won't press charges. Do it." He held his ear up to the door, hearing nothing.

After a few seconds, the door clicked open, and Grissom burst in with his gun drawn. Both officers looked at each other, drew their guns, and walked into the apartment.

"Las Vegas Police!" one called.

Grissom ran immediately to Sara's bedroom, and flung open the door.

Fromansky was straddling Sara, who was lying motionless beneath him with a blanket around her neck. His hands were pulling on opposite ends of the blanket, and he was breathing heavily.

Before Fromansky had time to react, Grissom ran to him. He pulled him off of Sara and threw him on the ground.

Grissom's eyes were crazed with anger and disbelief, but he could say nothing. As the other two officers entered the room to take Fromansky out, Grissom stumbled over to Sara and untied the blanket from around her neck. As he placed it over her naked body, he leaned down to check for her pulse and breathing.

"Call an ambulance!" he finally croaked out, his voice high and urgent. "She's not breathing." He moved Sara onto the floor and tilted her head back. Her face was turning blue.

"Come on, Sara," he pleaded, his speech coming in short puffs as he alternated compressions and mouth-to-mouth. They became gradually more intense as the seconds dragged on, and Grissom's eyes became more frantic as he crouched over her.

Finally, with a great gulping, sputtering breath, Sara took in air, and Grissom collapsed in relief onto his hands and knees next to her.

"Sara?" he asked gently, taking off his glasses. "Sara, can you hear me?"

She didn't respond, and merely lolled her head to the side with her mouth slightly open.

He heard the officers talking outside the room, and the intensity in his eyes came back. He stood up slowly, checking Sara's vitals once more, and ran into the living room to see Fromansky's wrists being cuffed behind him.

"We've got him, Mr. Grissom," said one officer. "Captain Brass should be here-"

Before he could finish, Grissom grabbed Fromansky by the collar and shoved him against the wall forcefully.

"_What did you give her?"_ he hissed. "You drugged her. Tell me with what. NOW."

Fromansky was silent, and the officers stood still, frightened, unsure of what to do.

Grissom stared at him with concentrated fury, and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"This is not about us. This is about her, and if she dies, I can't be responsible for what I'll do to you."

With a deep sigh, Fromansky looked to an unoccupied corner of the room and muttered, "Rohypnol."

Grissom shoved him back in the direction of the officers and ran back into Sara's room as Brass and the paramedics entered the apartment.

He kneeled over Sara once more, holding her hand with one of his, and feeling the pulse in her neck with the other.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I'm so sorry."

**OOO**

Brass entered Sara's bedroom slowly as the paramedics lifted Sara onto a gurney.

"Gil."

Grissom, who had been pacing back and forth next to Sara's bed furiously, spun around, not quite meeting Brass in the eyes.

"She's gonna be okay, Gil."

Grissom sat down on Sara's bed, resigned. "We don't know that. We don't know how long she was deprived of oxygen. We don't know much rohypnol is in her system. She could have brain damage, or…" he trailed off, dropping his head to his hands. "I didn't see it."

"You did see it. You figured it out. You saved her life."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Grissom slumped his shoulders. "We have to process her room."

Brass shook his head, stepping aside as the paramedics wheeled Sara out of the room. "I'll call days. You can brief them on what happened, but you know you can't work the scene."

"Fine." He rose defiantly and followed the paramedics. "I'm going with her."

**OOO**

Catherine walked into the hospital room to see Grissom asleep in a chair, his head drooping to the right. She walked up and put a hand on his shoulder, awakening him with a start.

"What time is it?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"It's seven." Seeing Grissom's confused expression, she continued. "At night. It's been about eight hours. Still nothing?"

They both turned to look at Sara, lying still and silent, hooked up to tubes and machines, puffing and beeping. Grissom shook his head. "Doctors are hopeful, though. The rohypnol should wear off soon, and her asphyxia shouldn't have any long-term effects."

"It's just a matter of waiting."

"Yeah," he said with a slight scoff. "I hate waiting."

"Well," she answered, pulling up a chair. "So does Sara."

**OOO**

Inhaling deeply, Sara slowly opened her eyes, squinting at first. She moved her head around, immediately hindered by the neck brace that steadied her movement. She shifted her eyes to the left, catching a small glimpse of someone blurry. Sara made a small guttural noise, letting her eyelids droop a bit.

"Sara? Sara? Can you hear me?" Grissom clambered out of his chair and sat on the edge of her bed, taking her left hand in his.

She nodded, wincing immediately after, and let out a soft moan.

"It's okay," he said, tucking her hair away from her eyes. "Your neck and throat have endured severe trauma. Just lie still and breathe."

Sara looked up at him with a puzzled expression, her eyes wide with questions.

"You don't remember what happened, do you?"

She closed her eyes in defeat.

"Don't worry about that for now. We'll talk about it later, when you're better. The rohypnol-" Grissom stopped, his face conveying an error in judgment.

Sara's eyes widened in fear. Her lips moved and the slightest whisper escaped. "_Rohypnol?_" She blinked furiously and looked away, her lip quivering. She closed her eyes and did not move or speak for several moments. Then, opening her eyes again, she turned back to Grissom and mouthed the words, "Who?"

Grissom took a deep breath and squeezed her hand more tightly. "Fromansky."

Two tiny tears began to run from the crevices of Sara's eyes. She shut them tight, swallowed, and winced.

"But we've got him, Sara. We caught him. He can't get out of it. We, uh…" he paused, looking at the floor. "We do need to do a SART kit on you, though."

She nodded almost imperceptibly. "Catherine?" she mouthed.

"She went to get us some coffee. Do you want her to do it?"

"Yes," came the whispered reply.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

**OOO**


	6. Part Six

A/N: Thank you so much for the warm reception, everyone! I promise, my next fic will be a bit lighter. Perhaps I'll provide an explanation for that "tush" comment. (Really, what WAS that?)

Oh, and in case it wasn't clear, yes, I did intend for it to be read that Sara was being sexually assaulted. I just didn't want to get too graphic, as sexual assault is a terrifying thing to write about, and I wanted to keep it PG-13.

One chapter left after this one! Thanks so much!

**Part Six**

"Is 36 hours enough?" Grissom shifted uncomfortably outside the hospital room. "She's been through a lot. You're positive you want to release her?"

Dr. Marlon ran a hand through his hair and glanced in at Sara, who was sleeping. "All the toxins are out of her system, she doesn't appear to have any long-term damage, and she's eating and digesting normally. Her breathing might be a little inhibited due to the trachea damage, but it's not serious."

Grissom lowered his voice slightly. "What about psychological consult? You don't know her; she internalizes-"

The doctor interrupted him. "We've had a counselor speak with her. She seems shaken up by the whole experience, but the only recommendation was rest and safe surroundings."

"Should we have people to check on her at all, or…"

Dr. Marlon paused for a moment, a little flustered. "Oh. She lives alone?"

"Yes."

"Hm. Well, yes, ideally, someone should look in on her whenever possible."

Grissom nodded and looked into her room. "I think cops are out of the question."

The doctor raised an eyebrow and looked back down at his clipboard. "I'll go get her things and have her release papers processed. She should be waking up soon."

"Thank you, Doctor," Grissom sighed, entering Sara's room, which was littered with flowers, cards, and a giant blue teddy bear that occupied Grissom's former chair. "Sara?" he asked gently.

Sara raised her eyebrows before opening her eyes. When she did, she smiled at the sight of the big teddy bear. "Where did that come from?"

"Greg came by. It's from him, Mia, Hodges, and Ronnie, I think." He looked at the card. "Oh, and Bobby. You were sleeping. Greg didn't want to wake you."

Sara sat upright and extended her arms. Grissom passed her the bear and chuckled softly. "I don't know how you're ever going to get that home."

She didn't respond.

"They're releasing you today, Sara. You get to go home."

She turned to face out the window. "Grissom…uh…I…."

He dropped his head and looked at his hands. "You don't want to go home, do you?"

"No."

Grissom nodded. "You can stay with me."

"Oh, it's okay….I didn't mean…"

"No, really. I have a guest bedroom. No one uses it. I mean, there's a tarantula in there right now, but his lease is up."

Sara smiled weakly. She turned to look at him, took a deep breath, and asked, "Are you sure?"

"You can stay as long as you like."

"Thank you."

**OOO**

Catherine walked into the hospital room, holding a brown duffel bag and a white paper bag. She smiled, setting them down at the foot of the bed.

Sara looked over at Grissom quizzically. "I made a phone call," he explained.

She turned back to Catherine and smiled. "Thanks, Cath. Did you pack that yourself?"

"No problem." Catherine reached out a hand to pet the big teddy bear. "And no, it was the bag you were packing…for the hotel…"

"Oh," Sara said, her voice dropping a bit. "I don't…my memory is a bit…"

"It's okay," Catherine said softly. "I also brought sandwiches," she proclaimed, presenting the paper bag.

Everyone smiled as she passed around the bag. "Nick and Warrick wanted to be here," she continued. "Atwater needed them; there's a high-profile murder on the Strip. Tourist couple murdered in their hotel room. I guess their family is a big name…" she trailed off. "But I'm sure we've talked enough work these past few days, right? I'm going to go help them out. You guys okay here?"

"Yeah," said Sara, her mouth full of bread. "I'm being released."

Catherine smiled and nodded. "All right. Good luck. We're thinking about you."

There were a few moments of silence, and then Catherine turned to walk out the door.

**OOO**

Brass paced back and forth across the floor of the interrogation room. "I've seen some sick things in my time, Dave," he began, putting both palms firmly on the table. "But I gotta tell you, you're near the top of the list."

Before Officer Fromansky could respond, Brass continued.

"Why her? Why Sara? Why those other women? What did any of them do to you, Dave?"

"I don't suppose you've talked to Lieutenant Maxwell recently about me, have you?"

"Yeah, I just did. He said they're letting you go at the end of the month due to budget cuts. You know, most people go home, drink a beer, take a few rounds at the shooting range when they get news like that. They don't rape and kill women, Dave."

"They had to pick someone to let go, and they chose me. Not Borgman, who shows up hung-over every Monday. Not Ramirez, who's crashed three patrol cars in two years. No. They chose me. And do you know why, Jim?"

"You were investigated for murder."

"Twice," he clarified. "Grissom investigates me for murder not once, but twice. It doesn't matter that I was cleared. Oh, no. That stays on my record, and not only does it get me kicked out of here, but I'll be lucky if I can get a job as a security guard now."

"So, you're pissed at Grissom," Brass said slowly, squinting slightly. "And you killed a restaurant manager and a teacher. That's some crafty revenge there, Dave."

"I couldn't hurt Grissom like he hurt me." Officer Fromansky shifted in his chair, leaning forward slightly. "My job is my life, and it's the same for him, but I couldn't get the guy fired. Everyone _loves_ Gil Grissom. That man sneezes and it's labeled brilliance. So, if you can't take away what a man does, take away what he loves."

Brass stood silently as Officer Fromansky continued.

"I've seen them together. He's crazy about her. Probably the only happiness he has in that bland little life of his."

"But why Marilyn? Why Juliet? Why the anagrams?"

"Oh, you know how much that little weasel likes puzzles. I never met those women. There were on my patrol route. I followed 'em home and made up some cock-and-bull story about investigating their neighbors for noise violations or some crap. They let me in, and I pulled out my gun. I know what those CSI nerds look for. Hair, prints, semen. I didn't leave a single thing behind, except those messages. Just think how devastating it would be for him; the murderer you couldn't catch killing the woman you love."

"You didn't wear gloves with Sara. You didn't handcuff her."

"No, I knew she'd fight back. I needed to drug her. And I didn't wear gloves because I don't care anymore. He was going to catch me anyway. I'm going to rot in prison for the next 30 years anyway, either behind the bars or at the front desk. At least this way, Grissom would suffer."

"But he caught you."

There was silence.

"I saw that look in his eyes when he thought she was dead. That was enough."

**OOO**

Sara walked into the townhouse, with Grissom following closely, carrying a duffel bag.

"I can carry my own bag, Grissom."

"I know that. Here. I'll show you the guest bedroom."

She followed him down the hall and nodded as he pointed out the bathroom.

"I have extra towels in the closet if you want to take a shower." He set her bag down on the bed. "Is this okay?"

Sara nodded distractedly as she noticed her reflection in the mirror on the wall. The bruises on her neck were fading, but still very visible. She craned her neck slightly and stretched out the collar of her shirt to fully examine the markings.

"You fought hard, Sara. I've seen people die from less."

She took a deep breath and returned her shirt collar to normal. "Well, I couldn't give up so soon, I suppose. I mean, I don't really remember most of what happened, but I do recall figuring something out earlier that day."

"You did?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sara turned away from the mirror. "I – uh – I couldn't let myself die without telling you something…"

Grissom held his breath and set his jaw, saying nothing.

"The letters in 'Conrad Ecklie' can be rearranged to spell 'Ire-Laden Cock.'"

Grissom broke into a wide smile. Gently, without touching her still-bruised neck, he pulled her into a tender hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders.

"I'm so glad you're okay."

They stood there for a few moments, saying nothing, until Sara finally broke the hug with a smile.

"I should probably get cleaned up."

"Okay," Grissom answered softly, exhaling and walking out of the room.

**OOO**


	7. Part Seven: The End

Here it is, the last chapter! It's also the longest, I think. I hope you like it. Again, thanks for RRing, and I hope to write more when I have the free time. Spring break is only a week away! Thanks!

Theresa Dunnict

**Part Seven**

Sara yawned, toweling off her wet hair and making her way toward Grissom's guest bed.

"Sara?" came a voice from outside the door. "Can I come in?"

She buttoned one more button on her pajama top. "Yeah. Come in."

"Do you want some pasta?" he asked, brandishing a kitchen spoon.

Sara shook her head and yawned again. "I, uh, I ate at the hospital. I'm just…not hungry, I guess."

"All right. I'll put it in the fridge if you change your mind." He walked out of her room, raising his voice to continue the conversation from the kitchen. "It'll be weird sleeping through the night, huh?"

"Yeah," she called back. "Aren't you going in tonight?"

"Nope. Ecklie says I can't work it; they took my statement and gave the case to days."

"Witness bias."

"Mm-hm." He returned to her doorway, empty-handed. "So, I'm going to do some paperwork, look over some old cases, you know. Wild Saturday night."

The corners of Sara's mouth turned up a bit. "Don't get too rowdy and turn on that Discovery Channel."

"Well, it is Shark Week."

They both looked off into space for a moment, smiling weakly, until Grissom sighed and started backing away. "I'll try to keep it quiet. You need to get some rest."

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't you? Catherine said you hadn't slept in two days."

"I'll be fine. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay. And Grissom?"

"Mm?" he asked, replied, turning around

"Thank you. I know this is probably, uh, outside your comfort zone."

"I'll be the judge of that. Good night, Sara."

Sara turned off the light and walked carefully back to the bed, wrapping herself in the blankets and watching Grissom's silhouette as he walked out of sight.

**OOO**

Sara coughed once, her body remaining perfectly still in sleep.

She coughed again, a bit louder.

Suddenly, a series of coughs shook her entire body, forcing Sara to sit up straight, breathing heavily and gasping for air between each cough.

Seconds later, Grissom entered the room quickly, carrying a glass of water.

"Hey," he whispered, sitting on the side of the bed and holding out the glass.

Sara nodded her thanks as she drank it down. When the glass was empty, Sara leaned her back against the headboard and closed her eyes, breathing heavily. A few sputtered coughs still emerged, but the fit had subsided.

"Thank you," she said, her breath returning to normal.

"Your doctor said you might have a little trouble breathing. Your trachea…" he trailed off. "I'll get some more water."

Sara shook her head. "I'm fine." She paused for a moment, setting the glass down on the end table. "It's scary."

"What is?"

"Not being able to breathe."

Grissom's eyes fell to his lap. "Sara-"

"He strangled me, didn't he?"

"Sara, you've been through a lot…" Grissom shifted uncomfortably and began to stand up.

"I have no idea what I've been through, Grissom!" Her voice was strained but forceful. "Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? That's what I do every day of my life! I figure out what happened to complete strangers in places I've never been, and I give them peace of mind. Do you have any idea how strange it is to see these bruises, to feel these pains, and to not know what happened? It happened to me, Grissom! I was there! I'm sitting here analyzing my own wounds trying to figure out what he did to me, because nobody will tell me what happened."

"They're still processing everything, Sara. The report will-"

"I don't want to read it in some report, Grissom," she said with a hitch in her voice. "I want to hear it from a real person. I want to hear it from you."

Grissom's eyes grew wide. "I don't know if that's-"

"Please," she begged, clasping her hands in her lap. "I know you know what happened. I know you're the one that figured it out. Please tell me. You're the only one I trust to tell me the truth here. And believe me, nothing can be worse than what I've been imagining."

Grissom sat on the side of bed, his elbows resting on his knees. He didn't say a word.

"Pretend it's someone else, Grissom. Just pretend we're talking about some other woman's case. It's not me. She's a stranger. Just give me the evidence, like we're in court. I know you can do that."

Taking a deep breath, Grissom closed his eyes. "Okay."

Sara pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. Her eyes were wide and attentive, and her brow was creased with worry.

Grissom opened his eyes. "Upon closer analysis of the evidence, Officer Fromansky became a suspect, and I requested a welfare check on…the victim's apartment."

Sara swallowed as he continued.

"I arrived at the scene with two officers, who picked the lock and entered the apartment with me. I…uh…went to the bedroom first, where I found Officer Fromansky sexually assaulting the victim, who was naked and unconscious."

Her eyes grew wider.

"The tox screen later indicated that Officer Fromansky made tea for the victim and drugged it with rohypnol, and the water drips on the carpet show that she was most likely dragged from the shower when the drug took effect. She was…" he paused a moment to swallow and take a deep breath. "She was being strangled with her blanket, which was wrapped around the neck once and pulled in opposite directions."

Sara's eyes began to well up with tears as she saw Grissom shudder ever so slightly.

"You were turning blue, Sara. You were so blue…"

She took his hand in hers and dipped her head, trying to look him in the eye. "It's okay, Grissom. You can stop," she said, her voice catching a little bit on the last word.

He shook his head. "The other officers detained Office Fromansky, and I performed CPR in an attempt to resuscitate the victim. She regained lung function, but not consciousness, and she was taken to the hospital minutes later." He stopped, nodding, as his eyes searched the room. "I'll have to tell that to a jury at some point, I suppose."

Sara nodded in reply and put her free hand on her breastbone. "You know, when you give CPR, you really put your back into it."

He looked over at her. "Do I? I'm sorry. Does it still hurt?"

"A little bit. Don't apologize. You saved my life."

They sat in silence for a few moments, Sara still holding Grissom's hand.

"That's it?" she asked flatly.

"That's it."

"I know we're not supposed to ask why…"

Grissom turned sideways to look at her again. "He wasn't after you. He was after me, in a sick sort of way."

Sara raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"I talked to Brass while you were in the shower. Fromansky was given his two-weeks' notice last week. Budget cuts. He blames the internal investigations for tainting his record, and he blames me for the internal investigations."

She nodded in understanding. "So he figured he'd torture you with an unsolvable puzzle and a lifetime of guilt."

"He got your middle name from the employee database, made up some clues, and figured he could hurt me the most by hurting you."

Suddenly, Sara inhaled sharply and let go of Grissom's hand, using her hands instead to cover her mouth. "We don't have evidence," she gasped. "He didn't kill me, and I'm the only victim with proof. We can't put him away for homicide; he'll just go in for sexual assault, attempted murder, maybe. Grissom, he'll-"

"Sara, Sara," Grissom said reassuringly. "He confessed to Brass earlier. He owned up to the other two murders. He's pleading guilty. He'll get life, Sara. He'll get life."

She let out a deep breath and dropped her head to her knees.

"Come on. You need your rest." He stood up and grabbed the glass. "I'll get some more water."

"Grissom?"

He stopped and met her gaze. "Yes?"

"Could…this is going to sound stupid…"

"What is it, Sara?"

"Could you stay here, just until I fall asleep?"

"Of course." He pulled a chair from the corner of the room over and sat next to her bed.

"Thank you," she whispered as she sank back into the blankets, her eyes closing slowly, and his eyes never leaving hers.

**OOO**

Grissom's eyes were drooping and his head lolling forward slightly when Sara's sharp intake of breath caused him to sit upright.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked at her still form in the bed. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. She was motionless and peaceful, not making a sound.

Grissom shrugged it off and stood up, pushing the chair back into the corner of the room. As his back was turned, he heard Sara gasp again. Turning back toward her, he saw that her face was taking on a more pained expression. Her eyes still closed, Sara's breathing was becoming more rapid, and she was beginning to writhe and twist her body beneath the sheets.

"Sara?" he whispered, taking a step closer to the bed.

As her breathing grew more and more frantic, she began to mumble quick, panicked words. "No," she gasped. "Stop." Tears began to run down the crevices of her eyes, which were squeezed shut. "Please. Stop."

Sara's writhing had moved her to the far side of the bed, and she was close to falling off. Grissom climbed up onto the bed, resting on his knees. He reached out for her arm.

"Sara. Sara, wake up."

The moment that his hand touched her arm, Sara lashed out, her arms flailing wildly. "No!" she screamed. Before Grissom could step back, she sat straight up, her eyes still closed tightly, and shoved him face-down onto the mattress.

"Sara!" he pleaded, muffled, as he hit the mattress. He rolled onto his side and grabbed her wrists with his hands. "Sara!" She lost her balance and fell back down onto the bed.

Her eyes flew open and she gasped again. Grissom was lying next to her on the mattress, and she was facing him, his hands still securing her wrists. Their faces were only inches apart, and Sara was trembling.

For just a moment, they stared at each other in silence. Finally, Sara broke the stare, letting her head drop and shutting her eyes. Grissom released his grip on her wrists and pulled his hands back cautiously.

"I'm-" Sara began, her breath hitching in her throat. "I'm sorry." She covered her face with one hand and began to sob uncontrollably.

Without a moment's hesitation, Grissom pulled her to him and put his arms around her. One hand held her head against his chest, softly stroking her hair, and the other wrapped around her back. "It's okay," he whispered. "It's just me."

Sara took her hand away from her face and locked her arms around Grissom's waist. "I see him," she gasped into his chest. "I don't remember it, but when I close my eyes, he's there. Nothing I do…can make him leave."

"He's gone, Sara," whispered Grissom. "He's gone. He can't hurt you."

Sara clutched him more tightly and sobbed. "I could smell him. I could feel him."

"I know," he replied, his arm moving up and down her back. "I know."

Her breathing gradually slowed as her shaking subsided. "It's stupid," she said, still pressed against his chest. "I know it's irrational, and I shouldn't-"

"Never apologize for this, Sara," he pleaded. "Never."

She nodded silently and sniffed.

"Sara, I want you to do something for me."

She sniffed again. "Okay."

"I want you to say the words 'This was not my fault.'"

"Grissom, I-"

"Please, Sara."

She took a deep breath, her chest pressing against his stomach. "This was not my fault."

Grissom sighed. "Thank you."

Sara swallowed and bit her lip. "Now I want you to do something for me."

"Anything."

"Say the same thing."

Grissom nodded, his chin coming to rest on the top of Sara's head. "This was not my fault."

They both smiled faintly and exhaled deeply.

"That does feel better," Grissom said, taking his hand from Sara's back and pulling the blanket back up to cover her.

"Yeah," she said, covering him with the rest of the blanket. "I think we're going to be okay."

Silent and still, they lied there in each other's arms, their eyelids drooping with fatigue. Finally, as the minutes passed and the heartbeats slowed, Grissom and Sara fell into a deep sleep.


End file.
